


An Unexpected Ending

by JennLynn77



Series: Right As Rain [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock, John!whump, Life altering event, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 06:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennLynn77/pseuds/JennLynn77





	An Unexpected Ending

**An Unexpected Ending**

**10th, November 2035**

 

“John. Please slow down.”   
  


“I’ve literally never heard you say that while we’re pursuing a suspect. And not in many other instances, come to think of it.” A sly grin.

 

“Well, we’ve never been driving on sleet-slicked roads while doing so before tonight. There’s a first time for everything.”

 

“She’s almost two blocks ahead of us. If I slow down, I’ll lose her.”

 

“She doesn’t even know we’re behind her.”

 

“I’m going the speed limit. I’m not speeding. Shit. I can’t see her now. Where the hell did she get to?!”

 

“John, please.” Sherlock’s tone was suppliant. The worry tinging just those two words was enough for John to raise his foot off the accelerator a bit.

 

“Okay. Foot’s off the pedal.” John reached across the car and grasped Sherlock’s hand. “We’re slowing down. You were right. Now, more importantly, I need your help in finding her car, because she must've turned off on a side street or someth…”

 

At that moment, their suspect, Madeline Tennant, sped from an alley and t-boned their car’s passenger side. 

 

Sherlock was right to have John slow down. But it didn’t matter now.

 

When they regained consciousness, their suspect was gone, and their car was wedged underneath an off-duty double-decker bus. The bus had toppled over and was lying on the side and hood of their car.

 

Sherlock woke first. He’s been unconscious for only a few minutes. A bump on the head and a cut to his brow. An icepack and a plaster. John, on the other hand, caught the worst of their accident. The bus was lying on his side of the vehicle and had severely pushed in the driver’s side of the car. 

 

“John!!!! JOHN!”

 

No answer.

 

“WAKE UP, JOHN!!!” John stirred.

 

“What the fuck? What the fuck happened, Sherlock?”

 

“We’ve been in an accident.”

 

“How were we in an accident? What happened?” John’s speech was garbled.

 

“I don’t know.” Sherlock released his seatbelt. He crawled across what was left of the front of the car to get to John and assess his condition. He was pinned under the steering column and part of the door. He legs were unseeable.

 

“FUCK!!!! What is happening? Why do my legs feel numb? Sherlock? Help me! I can’t feel my legs and my back feels like it’s been spun in a blender! Fucking hell it hurts!!!! What is going on?” John’s breathing was becoming erratic. Then he lost control of his bladder. The smell of urine permeated the air.

 

Sherlock smelled it immediately and then his hands instantly went to John’s body and began feeling around. His phone was thrown around somewhere in the car, so he didn’t have access to a torch, and the sun was setting around them.

 

“John, your legs are caught underneath the steering column and the driver’s side door. Your seat has also been contorted.” He couldn’t reach the seat controllers, as they were on the door side of the seat, and had most likely been destroyed in the crash.

 

All at once, John seemed to be able to make himself the doctor instead of the patient.

 

“Sweetheart, are you all right?”

 

“Yes, John. I am. I bumped my head and I think I might be bleeding a bit. Something feels sticky on my forehead. Otherwise, I’m fine.”

 

Through gritted teeth: “Is your vision okay? Double vision? Having trouble focusing?”

 

“No, John. I’m fine, really. Some ibuprofen and a lie-down, and I’ll be fine.”

 

“I need to see your face for a second, come here, love.” Sherlock did as he was beckoned. As John’s face swam into view, Sherlock could see that things were worse than he’d thought.

 

John brought his right hand to Sherlock’s face and scratched his nails lightly across his cheek.

 

“I think this is pretty bad, Sherlock. I can’t feel my legs and my spine feels as though parts of it are misaligned.” A grimace worked its way across John’s face and then he schooled his features. 

 

“Is there anyone else around? Do you think someone’s already called the police?”

 

“The street wasn’t overly busy, but there were other cars around when the accident happened. I can try to get out and look for someone…”

 

“NO!” Sherlock was frightened by the tone of John’s voice. John was never panicked. The combination of doctor and soldier didn’t leave much room for such things.

 

“Stay here with me until help arrives. Okay?” A pallid expression washing over John’s face. 

 

Sherlock knelt on the floor of the car and held John’s hand. He wanted desperately to put his arms around him, but there wasn’t enough room to do so, and he was also wary of hurting him in his current state. He brought John’s left hand to his mouth and kissed and kissed it until the sound of sirens cut through their tense silence.

 

*******************

A spinal fracture. Caused by the impact and the seat belt. Thoracic vertebra T12 and Lumbar vertebrae L1 and L2. Swelling and impact trauma caused a temporary loss of bladder control. The numbness in John’s legs was caused by both the instability of John’s spine and the sciatic nerves in both sides of John’s body being compressed.

 

John and Sherlock received the news a short time after John regained consciousness. They stabilised him, got him into a room, and Sherlock was there waiting to see him while the nursing staffed fussed with his IV and got his pain medications sorted. 

 

They were finally able to hold each other after the specialists left the room. 

 

“Christ, what does all of that even mean?” Sherlock was next to John on the bed. (Thank you, Mycroft, for the single occupant room.) John was carding his right hand through Sherlock’s hair. He pushed his forehead against John’s neck. John moved his hand from Sherlock’s hair and moved his arm around him instead.

 

“It means I’m going to be laid up for quite some time, Sherlock.” He kissed Sherlock’s hair twice.

 

“How long?” 

 

“Well, I’m not a neurosurgeon, but I do know that the surgery is going to lay me up for a bit. I’m going to have some restrictions: Things I shouldn't lift. No twisting, bending, or lifting. I’ll have to take it easy on the stairs. Maybe get a walker frame for the first few weeks.”

 

“A walker frame?”

 

“Sherlock. This surgery is serious. My range of motion will be compromised for the rest of my life. There is also a chance that the fusion won’t work. At my age, bone regrowth isn’t always guaranteed. There’s always the chance of a non-union result.”

 

Sherlock sat up, eyes wild and wet. “And what if that happens?” 

 

“If that happens, I’m going to be in a lot of pain. For a very long time.” 

 

Sherlock knew what that meant. 

 

“John?”

 

“Yeah, love?” John’s pain meds were starting to work. 

 

“If we can’t work anymore after this… I’ll be sad about that. But not as sad as I would’ve been if I’d lost you tonight. That almost happened.”

 

“Are you sure, sw’heart?” Sherlock laid back down, his head on John’s chest, his right hand on John’s belly. “If we never work another case again, I will remind myself that you almost died. I will never be disappointed that didn’t happen. Our life together is more important than our work.”

 

“N’er thought I’d hear ya say dat, S’lock.”

 

“If I never made it perfectly clear that you’re more important than anything else could ever be, I’m sorry for that.”

 

“Oh, shu up n cuddle me n get some sleep urself.”

 

So Sherlock did.

*********************

The surgery lasted five and a half hours. He was kept company by Lestrade, Mycroft, and Rosie, who came home from the first term of her first year at university, despite John telling her not to disrupt her studies. Sherlock and Rosie took him home and helped him up the stairs to the flat. His sciatic pain was relieved by the surgery. John wasn’t allowed to lift more than two and a half kilograms: no bending, twisting, squatting, or climbing for at least eight weeks, pending a follow-up and a series of x-rays.

 

Once that was completed, John had to go to physical therapy two to three times a week for twelve weeks. He also had to wear a bone growth stimulator two hours every day to speed up his healing process. After all of that, it was determined that John’s fusion hadn’t healed as well as his neurosurgeon had hoped.

 

“I hate to tell you this, John, but I think the way you’re feeling now, is probably going to be your new normal.” Sherlock looked at John and then the doctor. John’s face was frozen, impassive.

 

“So, you’re saying that he went through the surgery and all of that shit that happened after, and THIS is all he gets for it? A constant six to eight on the pain scale forever?”

 

“Sherlock. It’s okay. I sort of expected this.”

 

“But, John! I. I didn’t!!!”

 

“Why are you so surprised? We talked about this.”

 

“I’m not surprised! I’m angry! I’m angry for you! I’m angry for us! I’m furious that life keeps handing us shit to deal with!”

 

“John, Sherlock? If you guys would like to talk to a counselor or…”

 

“Is a counselor going to be able to tell me why John and I keep getting shit shoved down our throats?” With that, he exited the doctor’s office and slammed the door behind himself. 

 

After a few more moments, John stood and shook his surgeon’s hand. “Thank you very much for helping me. I know you did the best you could for me. You tried to put me back together again, and I thank you for that.”

 

Sherlock was waiting in the car park, sitting behind the wheel. John got in the car and there were no words spoken during the ride home.

 

After a tense supper and watching telly with unseeing eyes, John went to bed. Sherlock joined him after a bit. He slid in beside John and John turned and Sherlock went straight into his arms.

 

“I know you think I’m mad about The Work. But I’m not. I couldn’t care less about us not being able to do that anymore. I’m angry that these things keep happening to us. What did either of us do to deserve the rubbish life’s thrown at us?”

 

“To be fair, life threw you and me together, so I can’t really be too fussed about it.”

 

“And why the hell not?”

 

“Because. You've got me, Sherlock. I know you do. I’m still right here. Always here. And you’re here. And I’ve got you. I’ve got you always. That’s all that really matters to me, in the end. Everyone has their own aches and pains. Is this going to be hard? You bet it is. It already is. But we’ll deal with it. Like every other thing that comes at us. We’ve already been handling it for almost six months. If it’s you and me, it’s already handled.”

 

“I hope you’re right, John.”

 

“I usually am.”

 

“Usually?”

 

“Shut up, Sherlock!”


End file.
